WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES

When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea.
For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,
Are stillest when they shine;
Mine earthly love lies hush'd in light
Beneath the heaven of thine.

There is an hour when angels keep
Familiar watch o'er men,
When coarser souls are wrapt in sleep -
Sweet spirit, meet me then!
There is an hour when holy dreams
Through slumber fairest glide;
And in the mystic hour it seems
Thou shouldest be by my side.

My thoughts of thee too sacred are
For daylight's common beam;
I can but know thee as my star,
My angel and my dream;
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea.

Edward Bulwer Lytton
1803-1873

The Millstone Incident

My Dad grew up in the Great Depression. I grew up reliving the Great Depression through my father's amazing storytelling ability. His vivid descriptions filled my hungry mind with color and depth and just enough facts to make me feel as if I was actually there.

My father was one of ten children, each struggling and starving in their own way. As one of the youngest and shortest of ten children my father grew up street wise, scrappy and hungry. Adventure was always the quickest way to distract him from his busy mind and hungry stomach.

One spring day my father, affectionately known as "Shorty," was traipsing through a wooded hillside that overlooked the rusting coal mining town of Coburn, Virginia. You don't get the nickname "Shorty" for being the biggest kid in the pack, so you have to be quick to action in order to keep from being lost and left behind. With his older brother PeeWee and his buddy Don Evans in tow, their adventure took them to the top of the hill so they could overlook the town. Almost to the crest of the hill, they saw it. They must have been up this hill a thousand times, but for some reason they’d never seen it—an enormous millstone, standing upright and just waiting for them to find it.

The three boys saw opportunity. A few ideas bounced among them as they surveyed the two tons of rock shaped for milling grain into flour. The grist mill that had once surrounded the grinding stone was long gone, leaving the stone standing silent and alone. Not being versed in weights and measurements, it never dawned on the three boys that this thing was heavy. Really heavy. So they took a rope from my grandmother's clothesline and secured the millstone. The plan was to knock away the stump that held the stone and let the mighty rock gently roll down the hill so they could salvage it and make a killing off its sale.

PeeWee took an ax in hand and barked out the question, “Ready?” Shorty and Don held the rope tightly, bracing for the slow descent down the hill. PeeWee sliced the dead stump with a whack, and the millstone moved for the first time in decades. It moved slowly at first, then when the rope snapped, it freely rolled down the hill. With the boys in chase, the millstone began chewing up trees and spitting them out both sides. Nothing could stop it. It smashed a fence as the boys ran helplessly along dodging limbs and falling trees. It kept rolling downhill, picking up speed and moving right toward a house.

At the foot of the great hill was a shack owned by a strange woman named Jane Hicks. The boys watched in disbelief as the stone rolled straight toward her house. Living next door to Jane was the Adkins family. Baldy Adkins was another friend of my father. When I asked my dad why anyone would name a kid "Baldy," he assured me that he was not prematurely bald and this was his nickname, he said the Adkins family was so poor they shaved their kids’ heads to keep from having to pay for haircuts—and that it also helped keep the lice population down. Baldy's mom was hanging clothes in the backyard when she heard the commotion coming down the hill. Jane was in her kitchen when Mrs. Adkins yelled, "Jane, get out of that house, all hell is breaking loose!" Jane dove from the porch seconds before the millstone slammed into the house and split it in two.

No one saw the Litton brothers or Don Evans for over a week. They just melted into the mountains until the heat was off. Upon their arrival back in civilization, they were just in time to watch a man with a team of horses pulling the millstone down the street to salvage. It would be years before the statute of limitations expired on the fear of these three young men. Thankfully for them, everyone found a huge distraction when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Within a few short years the three boys would be off at war and the world would never be the same.

The best part of this story is the part I did not tell you. You see, Jane Hicks made moonshine in that little shack at the bottom of the hill. My dad said that on Saturday night after she had finished brewing and taste testing her product, Jane was riding high. Alcohol can do strange things to people. Jane would climb the hill behind her house above the town and scream like a panther. Funny thing, after the Millstone Incident, no one ever recalled hearing the panther again. What the Federal Revenuers could not do, three hapless and hungry boys with wide eyes and big dreams did. I don't know if Jane was saved that spring day, but I know that whatever happened to her, the panther never screamed again and no one ever purchased old Jane Hicks’s brew. The Lord sure does move in mysterious ways.

Storm Chaser

Many Christians have what we call a life-verse. It is a passage of scripture, a chapter, or some may even have an entire book that connects with their lives. It sums up their world view or it is a promise to which they claim and cling. My life-verse is the forty-sixth chapter of Psalms. It begins, "God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble." Martin Luther declared that this entire chapter was the biblical basis for his hymn "A Mighty Fortress." That is why Tammy and I had this hymn played at our wedding and we opened her funeral with it. One day it will be played again at my funeral. Our God is a mighty fortress. My heart is lifted today to praise Him and lift Him higher. I want others to see how great is our God.

I am amazed by people who chase storms. I watch National Geographic as well as Discovery channel whenever they highlight storm chasers. I wonder what kind of fools get so close to the great tornados that sweep the great plains of this country. I want to make an observation. We spend a great amount of time running from trouble. We avoid them, pray to be spared from them, brace ourselves when we see them coming. Jesus did not do that. Jesus deliberately goes to wherever people are caught in life's swirling, tossing trouble. He really does draw near to those who are being crushed and broken.

In Mark chapter five, Jesus is getting out of a boat that landed on the far side of the Sea of Tiberius, Jesus saw a storm of trouble coming his way—a poor man who had been possessed and tormented by demons for some time. With a simple word, the demons were forced to relocate. Imagine the drama. Pigs squealing, people cursing, the wind sweeping the hillside, the terror of the dark spiritual world exposed: all make for a scene which makes the hair on your neck stand at attention. A man drops to the ground as if dead, when in fact he’s never been more alive. He is now free, seated at the feet of Jesus like a child full of amazement, endearing love, and wonder that will not allow him to take his wide eyes off of Jesus. Jesus’ disciples can’t take their wide eyes off the man. Their minds race as they try to figure out how they’re going to describe the scene to their wives when they get home.

As Jesus leaves the region, this man pleads to go with him. Jesus refuses, sending the man home back to his family as a "show and tell" project for God's power. The scripture says: "So the man went away and began to tell in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him. And all the people were amazed." Today, I am amazed by this man's story. I’m amazed at a Savior who chases storms because he knows there are people in the vortex, people he alone can save. He is the Savior who is our refuge, one who saves and helps in our present trouble. He is my refuge and strength. I praise Him in my home and the surrounding cities because he alone sets me free. He alone is my comfort and help.

Last week I took Tyler to Union University for the second time. We moved him into a new apartment. We purchased new clothes, sheets, linens and junk food. It was not as emotionally difficult to take my son the second time, until we said goodbye. My tears flowed and we embraced again in prayer. I got in my truck, and every square inch of the interior reeked with loneliness. I didn’t want to be in that cab alone. This time I knew what to do. I prayed, "Lord, you are my very present help in times of trouble, I am not alone, you are here with me and you are my ‘enough.’ I trust you to go with me all the way home. I don't know where the feeling went, but it was gone. I didn’t hear squealing in the distance but I felt like a man sitting at the feet of Jesus in awe.

Thank You Lord Jesus for being a storm chaser for me!

Ed Litton

The Mix

Life on earth is a mixture. We may want it to be purely one thing or another, but in fact it’s a combination of bad, sometimes desperate things and good, even silver linings. There are hues and shadows as well as rich colors. This isn’t a statement of moral relativism. It’s just reality. This mixture is the product of our fall. When we, the human race, chose to sin we chose to suffer, and in that suffering God's grace was ready to bring hope, comfort and healing. Grace anticipates a mix. Every dark cloud has a ray of hope and every bright day has a threat on the horizon.

Before we despair, we need to remember that God's grace is in the mixture and God does the mixing. We deserve all darkness. Hell is described as a place of "utter darkness" and that is what I deserve. But the grace of God brings hope and healing, transforming what we deserve into what we can never deserve.

Sitting with a friend in the fight of his life against a powerful cancer, I marvel at the grace of God sustaining him and giving him profound perspective. He cannot explain it, nor can I, but he is grateful for the insights God is giving to him, and even though he would rather not have the threat of death hanging over him, he would not trade it for the grace he finds from God.
Two women with the same name, Mary of Magdalena and another who was known as "the other Mary," made their way to the tomb where Jesus' body was lying. They courageously took on the task of cleaning up the mess others made and tying the loose ends surrounding the horrifying death they could not look upon nor turn their eyes from. Light was breaking in the east, but they knew that the darkness best set the mood of their hearts. Sorrow wore on them like thick uncomfortable wool. The steps they took were slow and painful. They moved forward out of love for the man who died.

Several confusing things suddenly happened. A violent earthquake shook, a brilliant angelic visitor appeared, slamming the guards surrounding the tomb of Jesus on the ground. The two Marys were overwhelmed, which explains the angel’s words: "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, he is risen, just as he said."
When the two Marys left to tell the others, the Bible simply says in Matthew 28:8: "So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples."

Did you see the mix? Afraid yet filled with joy? Get used to glorious experiences mixed in the less than wonderful realities. Joy in the midst of fear. Love in the midst of heartache. Peace in the midst of the storm. These are but the fringes of God's power, but do not deny this is God's power. Thank God that a day is coming when there will be no more mixture. Today I rejoice in the mix. I expect it now, even look for it, less grudgingly than before, actually, because I know He is in the mix.
Ed Litton

Pictures from Union

My sons Josh and Tyler caught my bug for ascetics, film and television.  I love photography and film so that has been a great way for us to work on projects together over the years.  Last Wednesday Josh and I drove to Jackson, Tennessee to be with Tyler. 




Josh went in an official capacity as a photo journalist for Fox News channel 10 in Mobile.















I went in my official capacity of concerned father. 

These are a couplel of my pictures to help you see how utterly devastating this storm was at Union.  I post these also to remind you to pray for the rebuilding of a great school.  

Ed Litton

My Latest Storm Story

Sometimes when it rains it pours, and sometimes the wind blows. My son Tyler is a freshman at Union University in Jackson, Tennessee. Over a week ago I went through the painful process of helping him move into his dorm. Both Tammy and I were dreading this experience; I was now dreading it alone. Armed with the truth that hard things are just a part of my life, I proceeded intrepidly as the day drew near. My emotions were out of my control. Tears sat on the edge of every word. I hugged Tyler as we said goodbye. I prayed over him and blessed him with the blessing of the father. I knew this moment was significant as he transitioned from dependance upon me as his source of protection to God the father. "Lord, help Tyler accept that as a man, you are his only real source of life and strength. I release him to you and your sovereign care."

There is something about being a father that I cherish and that honestly I find it difficult to surrender. It is the call of God upon my life to provide for and protect my children. It has become my instinct and my passion. The emotions I felt at releasing Tyler are not new; I have felt them at a similar moment in Joshua's life. I traced the various colored wires of this tangled emotion to a source. I felt as if I was abandoning my boy. No wonder I was having an emotional meltdown. The truth is I was not abandoning but rather attending to an important transition in a man's life. A transition from one earthly father to greater trust in his heavenly father.

One week later to the day of this right of passage, I found myself once again in the position of feeling helpless and calling upon my Lord, fearing yet more loss. Union University was hit by an unseasonal category four tornado in the early evening. The epicenter was at the dorms, where Tyler lives. You can imagine my concern, but remember I left him in the hands of a greater father.

Today I stood in the midst of the rubble gasping to believe what my eyes were seeing. The chilling cold wind punctuates this hour with another reminder of nature's groaning and life's brevity since the fall of man.

Tyler is doing well physically, a little brushed emotionally, but in general he is doing fine. Tyler was reading Proverbs sixteen on his bed in his dorm when he heard a loud distant sound. He told me that the first thought was something his mother told him often during our many Mobile storm stories. "When we are under a tornado watch, and you hear a loud noise, put on your shoes, get a flashlight and move into an inside room of the house." With her words replaying through his mind, Tyler obeyed his mother's wise counsel.

Today, Josh and I have traveled to Jackson to be with Tyler. As we take measure of the massive destruction on the campus of Union University we are stunned. How can so many students escape death in the midst of widespread destruction? The only answer is a powerful sovereign Daddy who uses good and godly mothers who teach little boys to be men. I am proud of Tyler. I am very thankful for a godly woman named Tammy who loved her children enough to prepare them to be good men. I am grateful for our sovereign father who is worthy of our praise regardless of the outcome.

Ed Litton

Crushed

The modern age has left us with more than rusting massive heaps of machinery now sitting silent behind old buildings infested with green jagged weeds. It has left us with huge misguided ideas, just as silent and rusted, sitting behind the warehouses of our thinking. We assume great leaders, much like the products of those machines, are formed by assembly lines of schools, seminaries and an occasional mentor, who will fine tune and cast us into a bin for packaging and delivery. In fact, God has a very different way of creating the people he uses. He enrolls his choicest servants in a course of highly customized study, advanced lessons in crushing pain.

"When God wants to do an impossible task, He takes an impossible person and crushes him." - Alan Redpath

If you think about it, you could legitimately conclude that no one in Scripture who was greatly used of God avoided this crushing education. Paul learned through brokenness that God's grace is sufficient. Job learned the great gain of great loss. Moses learned and relearned his need for constant dependence upon the Lord. Joseph learned that great dreams can endure crushing realities. Then there is David.

Brokenness is God's way. Talent, youth, vigor and ability are the raw materials that infuse our desire to be great leaders. The problem is that those raw materials can’t function in the way we need or the way God desires. David, with warm anointing oil dripping down his young back had all the raw material to be king. Yet God knew that another arrogant, insecure king, dependant upon his own ability, would not do. So he enrolled David in an extended course in crushing experiences.

Very few enroll voluntarily in God's school. Fewer graduate. It’s a small school that can’t field a sports team, and there are no pep rallies. There’s no time or desire for such trivial pursuits. The classes are highly customized. For David there were classes entitled "How to Avoid Being Impaled by a Spear;" "Madness: How to Work for a Mentally Deranged Boss;" "Modern Cave Dwelling;" War on Multiple Fronts;" "Leading a Rabble to Victory." There were also some very personal and painful lessons, like "Married to an Impossible Person" and "How to Love and Lose a Best Friend."

David had to learn to be attacked and never throw a spear back. In fact, what he was learning was how to trust and depend on the Lord as his only source. No wonder the Psalms, David's private collection of poetry and song, is dominated by songs complaining, weeping over the pain of his lessons. Yet David finds the Lord in the fog of his suffering. He never seems to completely lose his focus upon the Lord. So he graduates with the honor of being known as "a man after God's own heart." He was crushed and broken, and the world was filled with the fragrant aroma of God's grace in and through his life.

We find another successful graduate from this school, where few enroll but many are welcome, lying in a bed of affliction. Broken and crushed while these words streamed from her pen:

One by one He took them from me,
All the things I valued most,
Until I was empty-handed;
Every glittering toy was lost.

And I walked earth's highways, grieving.
In my rags and poverty.
Till I heard His voice inviting,
"Lift your empty hands to Me!"

So I held my hands toward heaven,
And He filled them with a store
Of His own transcendent riches,
Till they could contain no more.

And at last I comprehended
With my stupid mind and dull,
That God COULD not pour His riches
Into hands already full!

-Martha Snell Nicholson

I have no idea what impossible thing God has planned for me, but I am quite sure I am an impossible person. I long for my crushing to be used for His glory. With my stupid and dull mind I also comprehend that only He can pour His riches into and through my open hands.

Ed Litton

Broken

Searching in my computer, I stumbled upon a picture of me preaching with the choir and orchestra behind me in a wash of blue. It was then I saw her face. The moment is frozen in time. Tammy was sitting in the orchestra listening to me. I am amazed by how the mind works and how quickly it can race through your life, dropping forgotten snapshots to ponder.

In our life, I was the out front guy. I have always been comfortable in front of people, the more the better. I love preaching God's Word. Tammy loved her life behind the scene. She had all the talent to stand in the light, but she just lacked the need to be there.

She was my most excellent partner in ministry. She was proud of me. That may sound arrogant, but it isn't. I know she was very proud of me because she told me so often. She knew I needed to hear it from someone I respected and who had my best interests at heart. People are kind to me about my preaching, but I learned to wait for her words. No one has been able to encourage me quite the same since. She earned that respect by having to clean my proverbial plow on one or two occasions. I longed to please her and could not endure ever being an embarrassment to her.

I thank God for a woman. What a wonderful creation of our awesome God. She is so utterly other than man. She captivates us, transforming awkward men into poets as profound as Shelley and Keats. She can drive us to be more than our lazy or fearful hearts would ever attempt. The heart of a man will likely die in unproductive manhood without her, unnourished.

When Tammy and I met, God had already begun His new work in my heart. She was His gift to electrify the process. I had dropped out of the university and was prohibited from coming back until I could manage to bring my grades up in a junior college. Yet her love, her faith in me, her powerful encouraging ways made me want to be better for her, me and the Lord. I was broken on the rocks of her femininity and I delight in the brokenness. Today some call me Dr. Ed Litton. That could never have happened were it not for a brilliant woman named Tammy. I can still feel the warm glow of her. I am gladly a broken man.

Ed Litton

Jacob's Mourning

The human heart has great capacity. Like a mighty cargo ship it can carry a massive load of bitter cargo or it can carry a great load of love.

Eleven brothers were so full of envy, jealousy and hatred for their younger but more beloved brother Joseph that their ship sat low below the waterline. A world of frustration and hate culminated in an unthinkable act of murderous intent.

In Genesis chapter 37 we have the shocking details of the crime against this young man. Reuben, one of Joseph's older brothers, kept the rest from shedding his blood, but the optional plan was equally as sinister. They sold Joseph as a slave to Midianite merchants. These merciless traders in human flesh must have resembled aliens from the bar scene in the movie “Star Wars”. To them Joseph the young, handsome dreamer was little more than fresh meat, deeply discounted.

The plot thickens with details added into the mixture. There must have been a perverse sense of pleasure in the brothers’ hearts as they imagined what they would tell their father, Jacob. Their words were few; all they needed to do was hand the torn robe, golden strands caked with goat blood, to the old man. His vivid and guilt-laced imagination did the rest. The brothers’ cruelty snaps shut like a lock as they watch a man break before their eyes. They have dropped truth into a pit that day--kicking, screaming, and crying for mercy. Once you've done the unthinkable, it’s easy to do it again.

Now here’s what arrested my attention today. Genesis 37:34-35 says, "Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days. All his sons and daughters came to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted. ‘No,’ he said, ‘in mourning will I go down to the grave to my son.’ So his father wept for him."

Grief is always a unique reaction to the pain of loss. No two people will react exactly alike at shocking, tragic news. Jacob refused to be comforted. Instead he declared something that he fully intended to live out until he died. I understand Jacob’s reaction more now than ever, and it makes me concerned about the declarations I have made. Have I left room for God to take my heart in a different direction? Have I allowed my grief to become the defining moment of my life?

With Bible in hand I find myself wanting to comfort Jacob. I want to yell so he can hear me through the ages--you don't have to sorrow like you do. You see, I read the book and I know your son lives. He’s in another place, doing other things. He’ll be alright by the time this story ends, and actually he’ll be better than alright; he will rule and reign. Jacob, you don't have to surrender to grief, though I sure understand why you do.

We humans are limited in our ability to bring comfort. There is, however, another source of comfort, and it is God. He alone knows where our loved ones reside. He’s not the Midianite traders who carried them away, but He is sovereign over all. My beloved one, currently separated from me, is in another place, going another way, and will one day rule and reign. I don’t understand God's ways, but I can nonetheless accept His comfort. I can choose to accept His promise that we will meet again, and the reunion will be more spectacular than that of Joseph, his brothers and his grieving father, Jacob. After all he went through, can you imagine how it felt to hear the words from his son’s lips, "Joseph lives!"

I mourn, but with hope.
Ed Litton

Less Than Perfect Circumstances

It’s tempting to let painful circumstances in life prevent certain spiritual activities. For example, we may feel unworthy to enter into worship when we are hurting or grieving. We may feel strong feelings that cause us to think of ourselves as disqualified to meet with the Lord. Yet it’s interesting that two of the most profound worship experiences recorded in Scripture took place in painful and grievous circumstances.

Isaiah discovered in the year his dear friend King Uzziah died that he saw the Lord in all of His glory. (Isaiah 6) The Apostle John, while exiled and under great persecution, was lifted up into God's throne room and saw the one who is worthy of worship. (Revelation 5) Both of these life altering worship experiences took place in less than perfect circumstances to say the least. In fact, they were two very painful circumstances.

There’s something about being human that makes worship the last thought when grief and sorrow invade our lives, though it’s often the first thing God uses to set the stage for His greatest revelations. When I’m not in pain, I’m far more likely to allow my heart to wander off into unworthy pursuits. My sorrow drives me to seek Him and to long for Him.

In our less than perfect lives, in order to have a heart of understanding, we must see the Lord high and lifted up. He is lord. He is worthy. He is holy. He is in control. When I enter into worship, my perspective changes. I see clearer what matters and what doesn't. I feel his love and I’m reassured of his understanding.

I want to encourage the hurting person to look to the Lord in worship. He is worthy of our worship, but in worship we find hope, healing and joy again. We find relief from our suffering and strength for another day. 2 Corinthians 4:18 says, "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (NIV).

Ed Litton

Clarity

Suffering brings clarity. This isn’t automatic, but it’s possible. Suffering causes us to focus like few other things in life can. Jesus said in Matthew 13:15, "For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them" (NIV). I’m amazed how easily my eyes form spiritual cataracts, and how I close my eyes to certain obvious things.

Pain has a way of calling every nerve to stand at attention. I’m not here glorifying pain or desiring more, but I have to admit it makes me aware of how truly alive I am. I hunger for clarity in my spiritual life. I want to see the Lord as Abraham and Moses did--like a friend, face to face. I don't want to lose this ability to see what so often I have missed. I resist the inevitable return to spiritual dullness.

This side of eternity, there will always be things won’t be able to see, things beyond our finite ability to understand. I Corinthians 2:9 says, “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him” (NIV). Yet there is so much that the Lord wants us to see, hear and experience of His sustaining grace and love. A friend once asked me if it’s possible to have this kind of clarity without having this kind of suffering. I don’t know how it could be possible for me. I can be a dull, irascible, and self-centered sort. My imagination easily declares war on windmills and journeys down unworthy paths.

Of the Lord's Twelve, I guess I most identify with Simon Peter. I’m standing in a boat with others, darkness surrounds us, waves frighten us. Then we see something that makes the hair on our necks stand. Our nervous systems are on full alert. It is Jesus, walking on the storm tossed seas of our lives. What we’re experiencing is impossible but nonetheless real. I ask the Lord to allow me to come to Him. He smiles and nods his approval of my request. I step out of the boat, causing even more fear in my companions who are rocked by my recklessness. I walk on water. Step by step, the impossible becomes possible. Then my eyes are distracted by the sheer impossibility of faith. As I sink, fear rises; I cry, He hears and rescues. Oh me of little faith.

Suffering brings clarity. It also needs clarity. I can’t assume, I will not assume that this suffering is the worst, and once I am over it, I can rest assured I will not have to suffer like this again. I have no guarantees that there won’t be more or greater loss. Although I cannot imagine a greater loss, I must remember how dull I can be. Nonetheless, He comes on storm tossed waves, in the midst of great fear, to dull and distracted people like me and Peter and bids us to do the impossible and come to Him.

Lord, I come.
Ed Litton

Giving Words to Grief

”Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up o’er the wrought heart and bids it break.” - Macbeth

Grief visited me in a torrent on Christmas. I was expecting difficulty, but I received an emotional mugging. I felt as if grief dragged me down into a pit that can only be named despair. I struggled with it and felt as helpless as a fish out of water, lying in a puddle of my tears. My feelings were far more profoundly sad than those that visited me at the funeral. I was frankly surprised at the sound of my heart cracking again.

I fear Macbeth's words are true; if I do not express my grief in this manner, my heart will break never to be whole again. The word I offer to describe this emotion is "cheated." I feel cheated out of the love of my life. I feel cheated out of the joys of life that I have had, especially at this blessed season. I just simply miss my love. This may be as close to anger as I have experienced so far.

There is also a prolonged sense of foreboding that lies near the border of panic. It’s not unlike the feelings of flight I had as a child, spending the night with my cousin. We would play all day, our minds adrift in some fantasy, but at sunset something would come over me. The only way I could describe it was "homesickness." My aunt would push back my sweaty hair and feel my forehead for a temperature, but there never was one. I felt sick all over, and I wanted to be elsewhere. The place I was staying was safe, good, clean and welcoming, and my aunt’s food was always great, but I just wanted to be home. I feel like such a stranger here without Tammy. I feel odd in almost every circumstance of my familiar life.

I was reminded by a friend who has traveled this road to ask God to reveal what He is doing. So I asked the Lord to show me what He is doing that I may not care to see or want to find comforting. Revelation Chapter 19 describes Jesus returning on a majestic white horse. His name is said to be "Faithful and True." He is most certainly that. In a quiet place I find Him faithful and patient with my whirlwind of bitter emotions. He is true to never leave me or forsake me. I have always believed that God speaks, even if I do not have a clue what His words mean. He speaks, even though His words can be like explaining quantum physics to a three month old child.

When God answers my questions, He doesn’t always offer definitions. He speaks through a remembered verse. He speaks through simple phrases or thoughts I know didn’t originate with my mind. He speaks with love and understanding. He has spoken in firm and frightening clarity, but this time He answered me by sitting with me and letting me know He was there. He brushed away my grief and covered my sulking frame in His peace. He eased the pain of my soul. He did what answers could not, God came near.

Then I remembered, that is what my faithful and true God does. He comes near. I know now how people are dragged into the dungeon of despair. I know why anger and hurt can so easily rule our lives. I know better how to fight back when grief wants to mug me and drag me away. I know I still have a choice. Grief may well have the power to do all I’ve described and more, but it cannot lock me in a prison of despair. I alone hold that key. God made it so. I have been given the keys that lock or unlock my own prison cell. I have the power to choose. Thank God there is still in me something that yearns to be free.

Thank you, Faithful and True!

Ed Litton

The Dangers of Grief

The dangers of grief are many. You may not think of grief as being dangerous but it most certainly is. Charles Darwin reminds me of the dangers of grief gone wrong. The fact that Darwin rejected Christianity is commonly known, but what is not so well known is why he did. The painful death of his young daughter Annie may have been the culprit. According to biographers Adrian Desmond and James Moore in their book Darwin: The Life of a Tormented Evolutionist, "Annie's cruel death destroyed Charles's tatters of belief in a moral, just universe. Later he would say that this period chimed the final death-knell for his Christianity."

Arguably, the most destructive philosophy in modern history took shape in the heart of a hurting and grieving man. Darwin's grief would not be satisfied with platitudes, nor should it have been. Yet something turned in him with which I think I can sympathize. A deep sense of injustice often stalks the grieving. Yet if you listen to those who are most virulent in their attack on faith and in particular the Christian faith, you will hear something like this: "How can a good God, or how can an all powerful God, allow such innocent people to suffer?" The implication is that either God is not powerful or maybe He is not so good, if He exists at all.

I admit that I have often been put in a defensive posture upon hearing such statements. When I read of Charles Darwin's loss my heart sympathized with him. For the first time in all the years I have known of this man and frankly despised his destructive invention of an explanation of our existence without God, I felt compassion for him. Then I felt sadness because of one man’s struggle with grief that turned to anger. I have no way of knowing if Darwin was visibly angry, but his theory of evolution is very angry. It concludes that there must not be a God, or he cannot be loving, or he must not have enough power to stop the pervasive nature of death, so what good is he? Darwin then proceeded to write not so much an origin of the species but an explanation of life without God.

This concept has taken hold of modern mankind, and with it some truly devastating result have followed. Millions have died because of Darwin's idea that only the fit survive. In countries that choose to live out Darwin's conclusion and establish atheism, the numbers are staggering. In excess of 50 million have been tortured and killed by the "fittest" who had their hands on the controls. Religious people have also taken lives in their very real and depraved grasp for power, yet even the Inquisition would be hard pressed to match the 20th Century’s record of death. Others took these concepts to justify their illogical conclusions and gassed Jews, exterminated their opposition, destroyed the weak and infirmed, in the gruesome acts of living out the survival of the fittest.

The thought that haunts me is that this all happened because a man grieved, and his grief turned to anger, and his anger turned to unbelief, and that turned to hopelessness. We get to choose what we do with our grief. It feels like grief sits in the driver’s seat of our lives, and for a while it may; but in fact we get to choose what we focus upon, what conclusions we draw, and where our anger takes us.

Does God have a good answer for grief's nagging questions? I believe God's answer came, but in a surprising form. He sent his one and only Son, and he gave him a unique name. "The word became flesh and dwelled among us..." (John 1:14 NIV). God's answer was the Word becoming flesh and giving us Himself, not a glib answer to satisfy our intellect but to satisfy the problem of death, suffering and evil. Our God got close, so close that he could hurt and bleed. He refused to remain distant. Thomas, the disciple of Jesus, suffering great grief, declared that he would not believe unless he could see and touch the scars of Jesus, then found himself invited by Jesus to feel his wounds, touch his scars and believe.

Stop. What kind of God has scars? Only a God who is willing to get close enough to hurting people that they could hurt him. These are the scars of crucifixion, another depraved human invention. Why was he crucified? For you and me. He came near because that is the only way to help hurting people.

The question of suffering is hard, profound and consequential. Struggle with it carefully. Struggle with it valiantly, but ask the God of grace to help your anger; hurt and let your suffering rest at the nail-scarred feet of Jesus. Grief is dangerous, but equal to the danger is the possibility of knowing the God who created, sustains and loves you. The only wise God who came near and suffered with great purpose, to end deaths power once and for all.

Struggle well!
Ed Litton

Art

Art is a gift from God. I'm convinced it's His provision for us to express what is left of His image in us. Sin has done a number on us, and though I don't pretend to grasp the full impact of our total depravity, I'm grateful we still retain this amazing, God-given desire to capture and express the inexplicable. Like preschoolers painting with their fingers, we attempt to imitate God's eternal, creative, artistic nature. Psalm 92:5 says, "How great are your works, O LORD, how profound your thoughts!" (NIV)

I see this in George Frederic Handel's Messiah, in Winslow Homer's amazing paintings, Leonardo Da Vinci's sculptures, and the architecture of great churches. I marvel at a well-told story in film and a photograph that seems to speak. When I listen to great musicians, I marvel at the skill and giftedness with which they perform. Even more, I marvel when they seem to genuinely perform for an audience of one, the Lord. I'm convinced that Christians have a high calling to recapture the arts for God's glory. Writing, painting, producing films, composing songs, and a host of other creative endeavors must be pursued by believers for one reason--to glorify our Creator God.

This desire to create is much like a child who stops playing with a toy when she sees the long embrace of her father and mother in tender love. That little child loses all awareness of the toy and runs to the embrace. She squeezes between them, clinging to both. Why? She was made for intimacy, even though she may not fully understanding what it is. She yearns for it and is magnetically drawn to it.

In a similar childlike way, we yearn to express worship and praise for the Lord Jesus. One day we'll know fullness of intimacy with Him in His glory and His presence. This is when the fingerpaintings that we call masterpieces give way to the most creative place ever imagined, heaven. Won't it be wonderful on that day, to be in His presence and see something strangely familiar? We walk toward it, driven by curiosity and need, then realize that it is something we created while on earth. We're now embarrassed at its childish simplicity, but a sense of overwhelming love fills us as we see what we made hanging on the Lord's refrigerator?

Celebrate art, and in doing so you prepare for the reason we were given creativity as a gift--to glorify the Creative One who made us.
Ed Litton

The Hallelujah Chorus

Last Monday night my thirteen-year-old daughter Kayla played the cello in a Christmas concert with the Mobile Symphony and the Mobile Opera. The historic First Baptist Church was filled with people who came to sing Handle's Messiah, and it was a beautiful and worshipful event. Near the end, right before the “Hallelujah Chorus,” comes a simple chorus called “His yoke is easy, His burden is light.” As the congregation sang, I closed my eyes and thought about the inviting power of those words.

In Matthew Chapter Eleven, Jesus sends out a call to all people which still echoes throughout history:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). NIV

What an invitation. Never before or since has such a standing invitation been given to all people who are weary and hurting. Jesus invites us all to come and take Him at His word, accepting His promise of eternal life. It's a powerful invitation with an even more tantalizing promise of rest. Are you tired? I am. I'm weary, yet I find Jesus' yoke to be a safe place for my burdened soul. Then Jesus adds:

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls" (Matt. 11:29). NIV

Do you realize this is the only time Jesus ever described Himself? The reason He's a safe place for hurting and harassed people is that He has a soul that has been tamed from any agenda except the agenda of God's redeeming love. Why a yoke? 

Jan Scoper is a young mother in our church family who moved to America from Singapore. She lived among us for over fifteen years and last year finally became a citizen of the United States. We were so proud of her when she stood to take her oath as a U.S. Citizen. Jan becomes a American by assent. She raises her right hand in a solemn ceremony and assents to certain ideals about freedom and responsibility and--boom--she becomes an American. Many come to these shores come casting off yokes of oppression, never to bear them again. Becoming a Christian is different. It's responding to Christ's invitation to come to Him, to draw near to God with the promise that He'll draw near to you. By this we trust Him to bear our sins, and once saving faith is exercised, a relationship begins. Then we take on His yoke. 

A yoke is a single object built for two. When yoked together, two oxen can pull more than one alone can. It cuts work in half and multiplies the effect of their labor. Think about Jesus' yoke. Christmas is the celebration of the fact that Jesus came to earth as a flesh and blood human being. John 1:14 says that God became flesh and dwelt among us. Why? So He could invite us to His yoke. The Hebrews had strict laws concerning the abuse of animals, especially those placed under the yoke. An ox and a horse could not be hitched together in the same yoke. Why? One or both will get hurt. So Jesus came as He did, to do what He does--carry the heavy burdens of life with us. He came for the heat of the struggle, when your body is weary, when the sound of the cicada reminds you that pain does not always go away quickly, and the humid heat of the day is still young.

He is strong. He takes up the load that you can't handle. He carries the load when you stumble. He holds the yoke in place when you refuse to go another inch. His strength makes the yoke easy and the burden lighter for us. In the midst of our struggle and pain, we have His gentle and humble heart to teach us His way, the way to a cross. He knows how to handle heavy objects and weighty things. He manhandled the cross up Calvary. The Christian life begins by placing faith in Jesus, but it continues victoriously as we learn to walk like Him--by walking with Him under the yoke. 

I don't know where one finds rest while still in the struggle, except with Jesus. 

With warm, salty tears moving down my face, I listened to the heavenly music played with skill and operatic voices singing in amazing harmony. The notes faded away as the music paused, and the conductor swept his arms upward. The orchestra began playing the familiar triumphant refrain that caused us all to rise in honor of the great God and King, Jesus Christ. He is worthy of my tears of praise. He is worthy of our standing and rejoicing in chorus as we sing Hallelujah! To God be the glory!

Merry Christmas from the Yoke!
Ed Litton

Tammyland

When sorrow arrives, it's important to focus on what yet remains; loss can consume you if you let it. I always find strength in the Lord, and He is gracious to give me His Word. In Psalm 16: 6, David makes a statement that has been on my heart today:

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.”

Today I give God glory for causing my boundary lines to have fallen in pleasant places. I'm grateful for the place Tammy and I have raised our family for the last thirteen years. It's a place called Saraland. Honestly, when I first heard the name of this small suburb of Mobile, I thought it a bit corny. After coming here, I didn't see a lot of impressive buildings or memorable structures.

I have a strange habit, rooted deep in my DNA. When I visit a place, especially when I move to a new place, I want to learn as much as possible about it--how it came to be, how it got its name. I quickly discover that most people don't have the same compulsion. I see a lot of wrinkled foreheads and shrugged shoulders, and I hear, “I have no clue” or even “Who cares?”

I do. I want a sense of history, especially about the place I live.

Well, Saraland has a history. It seems that a long time ago there was a Methodist circuit-riding preacher who had a preaching point in the country just north of Mobile, near Chunchula, Alabama. In those days travel was limited to the speed of a good horse. So this preacher would faithfully travel--one week to one place, the next to another, following the great tradition of Methodism's founder John Wesley.

When he would arrive at each point in the circuit, there would be the preaching of God's word, baptizing of converts, and memorial services for those who died. That was the life of a circuit-riding Methodist preacher. On one of this preacher's trips to north Mobile, his wife came with him. I don't know if it was her regular custom to do this, or if this was a rare occasion. But on this trip she fell ill. They stayed in this area hoping and praying for her recovery. She died in the home of a stranger.

The community was moved by the plight of this preacher. People poured out love toward him. He experienced so much love, so much gratitude for his faithful preaching of the gospel, that when a town arose in the region north of Mobile, they called this little place Saraland after the wife of the circuit riding Methodist preacher.

I find a sense of irony in this story. Here I am--a preacher, not from Alabama, but willing to come here at God's command. Married to a woman who made my life and ministry possible. Grateful for a good community in which to raise our family, and even glad at times that it is small, quiet, and not worthy of much attention in this world. It's a good place to hide beneath the shadow of the Almighty. We've found this people to be kind, grateful for our ministry, in the same way they were for that Methodist pastor and his wife. I also know the great loss of my precious wife. I know the powerful love and compassion of people who feel my grief and wish to do everything they can to come to my aid. I believe they would name this place Tammyland if they could. Tammy would never stand for that, I assure you.

What marks this community is compassion, love, and a generous spirit. It always has and still does. Our community will not stay small for long. Change is already under way. What I hope and pray is that in the process of time and transformation, one thing will never be lost in my little city: love.

Thank you Lord, for allowing my boundary lines to fall in pleasant places!

Ed Litton

Insight in Worship

From time to time, I wonder what Tammy might be doing. This thought was a normal mental exercise anytime we were separated. In the past, I could easily picture her in our house, driving her car, or playing her oboe in the living room. Now, this mental escape seems very strange indeed, because I have no easy reference point to imagine what she could be doing in heaven. The problem is not my lack of imagination, or my failure to believe in heaven. Paul's words in I Corinthians 2:9 explain why I struggle to picture her in heaven. However, as it is written:”No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him”—Heaven is incomprehensible, but thank God not unimaginable. The problem with my imagination is that it is too weak and cannot do heaven justice. Therefore, I choose to think of what she could be doing and not so much what it looks like where she is at this moment.

Heaven is, of first importance, a place to glorify Christ in worship. The worship of heaven must be amazing, unimaginable, and in a sense unspeakable. Since the chief aim of man is to glorify God, heaven is a place where His will is always done and His glory never diminished. The unending worship of heaven is beyond my comprehension; yet, I have seen my bride worship and I can picture what she looks like in worship. Many Sundays, I was touched and received great joy as I stood on the platform in worship and glance at Tammy, in her usual place, her eyes closed and her hands raised, in her gentle way of adoring Jesus. Now I can picture her beautiful face surrounded by His glory streaming from every direction, her eyes open wide, and her hands raised in worship.

Yesterday, I was in worship with God's people at church. As I worshiped and praised the Lord, a thought became instantly clear: I worship like a man looking through a dark glass. I do not see, but I believe. I worship Him who is unseen to me. In heaven, I will behold Him. I worship now with constant distractions, but Tammy worships with single focus. As I think of Tammy beholding Jesus, I am almost overcome with envy of her. Then, like an electric shock, its hits me: she will never again worship out of blindness, with her eyes closed, trusting what she cannot see. She now worships in the fulfillment of the promise; I worship in hope of the promise. She worships in wholeness; I worship in brokenness. She worships complete; I worship undone. Yet, my worship causes the angels to marvel, because it is by faith. In my painful, broken, and pitiable condition, I have one advantage that brings my Lord glory: I worship by faith.

Then another thought greets me, like a warm blanket, and I begin to weep. We who have been separated are united at one place: worship. I am on one side of Jesus; Tammy on the other. I worship like a blind man; she as one who has perfect vision. Yes, I wish I could hold her one more time; but, I can be content to worship with her again and again. Worship has a refreshed meaning in my life today.

Ed Litton

The Itching Label

A trend began a few years ago to remove labels from men's undershirts and T-shirts and replace them with information printed directly onto the fabric. The reason for this change is simple: some labels cause irritation. Comfort rules in the garment marketplace. The older I get, the more I appreciate the philosophy of Gilda Radner, an original member of the Saturday Night Live cast: "I wear what doesn't itch!" I am a sworn Brooks Brothers man, and I was impressed that even the Brothers Brooks surrendered to this great idea.

There are life labels that make me itch, too, only the switch-out pattern has been reversed. I have gone from a very comfortable label--"happily married"--to several uncomfortable ones, like "widowed,” “single parent,” “grieving," and the list goes on. It itches even to write these words.

Now, I understand that my comfort is not the highest priority in life. As a matter of fact, in this new normal of my existence I have come to expect discomfort, and I'm even somewhat comfortable with it. But I appreciate people who are like the new printed labels in my Brooks Brothers undershirts. They try to remove the itch. They refuse to summarize life with an easy and itchy label. They are careful not to label the hurting as grieving or dysfunctional or any other tag. They look beyond the label and see what Jesus saw when he first laid eyes on the woman carrying a water bottle coming from the Samaritan city of Sycar. Her garment was full of itching labels, but he refused to see her that way.

This is where I have been most unlike Jesus. Labels are a way of life for me that I now see differently. Labels are not evil or completely unnecessary, but they can itch. Believe it or not, a small itch can sometimes make a big difference.

Bless someone today by removing the itching label from the garment you wrap around them in your mind. Smile and just show them that you love them and accept them. Who knows--you may be on the verge of setting a captive free.

Ed Litton

Secondary Loss

A secondary loss is a loss that happens after you have lost a loved one. Secondary losses can come when death forces you to move, leave friends, join another church, change jobs or schools. These losses are secondary in name only. Sometimes they have a more profound impact than the loss itself. Often they serve as a unwanted reminder of the greatness and magnitude of your loss.

During these holidays the secondary losses can stack one upon another and begin to become overwhelming. Putting up a Christmas tree has always been a joyous event in our home. We can and have logically anticipated that this was to be another hard process of our grief. As so many others have experienced, this going through the motions rings hallow but necessary. So we put up our tree. We have begun to hang ornaments. We are not finished because of different work schedules, but we will get it done, hopefully this week. Yet, I find a sad and strangely comforting mixture in this. With each ornament I hold I am reminded that Tammy held it last. With each memory wrapped around the special ornaments we have collected in our lifetime together, there is joy in the memory of places visited, the hands of little ones creating this masterpiece and the memories of life together. There is something else. Something I will never be able to say again. It seems strange, but I am speaking of the order in which our well packed Christmas decorations are found. Tammy was the greatest organizer I have ever known. She was not big on labels but she did not have to be. The order she brought to our lives was simple, logical and obvious, not needing a lot of instruction.

Upon opening boxes I found order, sweet order. Plain and beautiful ornaments resting safe in the boxes they were purchased in years ago, waiting to be brought out to the light. I found in stronger boxes the most precious ornaments, those hand made or the ones celebrating milestones in our kid's lives. Then there were the ones from our travels and vacations together as a family. It always seemed strange to buy Christmas ornaments in June and July but we did whenever we could. We went to Washington D.C. so often that we began a collection of special ornaments of the Capital and the White House neatly placed in their original boxes. The Ribbons we wrap the tree in are rolled up in their own place. The other decorations that adorn our living room are in their place. All a tribute to an orderly mind and heart. Tammy's mother tells of cooking one day when Tammy was about three years old. Tammy marched into the kitchen with a pad of paper in one hand and a pencil in the other. She pulled a drawer out and stood on it to reach the counter top. She then proceeded to make a list of the things she would do that day.

Order is a precious gift to a family, especially a grieving family. Our lives were well ordered and by God's grace and thanks to the Holy Spirit, continues to be, well, not quite as orderly. I make list now even though it is not my nature to do so. We struggle to get a grip on different and ever changing schedules. I am reminded that she brought order to our lives and for that I am so grateful. Last July, about a month before her death, Tammy and I were traveling and really enjoying each others company. We were talking about our finances, a subject that she brought from chaos to order every day. She stopped mid sentence and said, with her rye sense of humor. "You better hope I never die, because you will be in a world of hurt if I do." My response, "I have a simple solution to that, Don't die! Then we will be alright."

Well, she was right, I am in a world of hurt. My world of hurt is not total choas, thanks to her, nor is it found in want, but a powerful sense of loss. I have lost the one who ordered my life and made it possible for me to do what I am called of God to do. It may be what is termed, "Secondary loss" but it feels like a great loss to me.

Order My Steps Lord.
Ed Litton

UPDATE

If you've wondered where I  have been away for the past two weeks, I have been hunting.  Some wonderful friends lovingly conspired to give me two diversions that I enjoyed immensly.  I am blessed with friends, dear friends and I feel loved intensly.

If any of my regular readers are concerned about me hunting, you need to understand something about my calling. I am called of God to be a missionary to Rednecks. As any missional person should, I have adapted to the culture I am attempting to reach for Christ. Tammy and I stopped thinking that the term "Redneck" was a punch-line a long time ago. I love to hunt, so It turns out there was a Redneck deep down inside.

Grief marks the days, weeks and now months since Tammy went home to our Lord Jesus.  It is as difficult today as it was in the beginning only in different ways.  I still wonder at times how this could possibly have happened.  I find myself asking God to wake me from this nightmare so I can walk into our home and find her there, but I do not awaken because the nightmare is all too real.  I am consumed with tears at times I cannot predict.  I feel the daily loss of her powerful presence in my life.  She held the key to my heart.  She knew how to unlock me and she knew how to fix what often failed in me simply by her soft, gentle hand on my broad chest. 
 
I must tell you what causes me awe in these days.  I must share this because of the powerful and valuable resource it has become to me.  I am compelled to tell you that I can feel in a tangible way the prayers of people.  It happens so often that I am no longer suprised when someone tells me that the Lord put me on their heart compelling them to pray for me.  That is the work of the Holy Spirit prompting us to prayer.  Prayer is not the least we can do for a hurting and grieving heart, it is the ultimate act.  I am sustained by the prayers of the saints.  This must have been what Paul felt in prison, knowing that there were distant great hearted people who stayed on their knees on his behalf.  
 
Pray for those who are hurting.  Pray for the wounded to be healed.  Pray for the joy of the Lord to be the strength for those who have few reasons for joy.  Pray because the mighty power of God awaits our prayers.  Pray and interceed for those in authority.  Pray and thank you for praying for me and my children.  We want to do more than just awaken from this nightmare.  We want to awaken in our souls to the new life God has for us in Christ.  We have not experience yet all that our God has in store for us. 
 
We wait upon the Lord!
Ed LItton